


A Catnap and a Canary

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, It is pedantic as all hell, Napping, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Welcome to the inside of Linhardt's brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24270517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Say, will you sleep with me, Marianne?”It is only when the words leave his mouth that he realises just how lecherous his proposition sounds to the common ear.Marianne does too, and she looks at him with furrowed brows and a flickering, terrified stare.Ah, well.-Or, Linhardt accidentally propositions Marianne, when all he wanted was for her to get some sleep.It takes her five years to take him up on his original offer.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1880

It is the Great Tree Moon in Imperial Year 1180. 

The flowers are blooming, the wind is blowing and the animals are procreating. A most wondrous time that is full of life and mercy. Also, the perfect time for a nap. 

But then he hears a rustle and the chirping of canaries. Opening an eye, Linhardt glances to the side. 

To his surprise, there is Marianne von Edmund. She is alone, standing by a cedar tree. Her flitting eyes scour the area, but she misses him, as he is obscured by the shrubbery and the shadow of a wisteria tree. 

Marianne von Edmund. He’s heard about her. The adopted daughter of an Alliance roundtable lord...yada yada, he doesn’t remember the details about all that. 

But there’s something about her. Something...about a crest. Indeed, she has triggered his Crest radar. His Crest radar, if you must ask, activates whenever he gleams a suspicion that somebody...has a crest. And this time, Marianne is sending his radar into overdrive. 

After all, why would a powerful Alliance lord adopt a daughter of obscure origin, as distantly related as they are? Linhardt knows there’s only one answer - she has a Crest. 

But which Crest? It’s not Goneril or Gloucester–and certainly not Riegan. That’s why there was so much fuss about Claude, after all. Why does he know about all this Alliance nonsense, you may be wondering? His father, the Minister of Domestic Affairs, was gossiping about the whole ordeal with Duke Gerth, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. He remembers it only because –you guessed it– _crests._

But he’s rambling. Now, back to focus. Right, Marianne and her crest. 

Another detail – it also hasn’t been flaunted about. If someone had a crest, you bet a good portion of people would make it rather clear that they are in possession of one. That’s not to say that it’s anything blatant – after all, nobles have to be subtle and sophisticated and whatever nonsense. So no, it’s not anything like, _“Hi, I’m Linhardt of House Hevring and I have the minor Crest of Cethleann, pleasure to make your acquaintance–” ,_ but more like...wait, no, that’s exactly how that Aegir heir introduced himself. Wait, no, no, he was more extravagant. Well, he is the exception, and– Linhardt realises he is being pedantic yet again. 

Anyway, being who he is, he has scoured all rumours and attended every noble’s bragging session about their family history to discover all the available Crests this student year (sure, he could ask Hanneman, but he _keeps secrets_ , ugh) As of current, Riegan is rather curious. It was allegedly going extinct, after all. Lysithea too. His radar _spikes_ whenever she is by. He wonders if she’ll be in attendance for Hanneman’s reason lecture this afternoon. 

But no one knows Marianne’s crest. Well, Hanneman most certainly does, but he won’t say a word regarding the matter. Which just makes his curiosity itch turn into a rash. 

Thus, his spirit of inquiry fixates on her, and he continues to stare. 

“Hello Mr. Bird, I’ve brought some seeds for you,” says Marianne, cupping seeds in her hand and then scattering them on the ground. She is also...smiling. 

Huh. How...rare. He got the impression it wasn’t exactly a habit of hers. 

Somehow, he feels like some voyeur – intruding on her private moment, when her guard is down. Thus, with guilt guiding him, Linhardt stretches upwards with a big, appealing _“I’m here and I totally didn’t see anything”_ yawn. 

She squeaks. 

“Ah!” 

What he didn’t account for was the fact that she’d be startled. No worries, he’ll play it off all nonchalant-like. 

“Hm? Oh, my apologies - I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Go on, don’t mind me.” 

He gives a lazy smile as he occupies his hands with wiping off the petals, which fell from the wisteria tree right above him. 

He also takes the opportunity to have a closer look at her. 

Messy blue tresses, beady almond eyes...overshadowed by deep, depressing, dark circles. 

He would describe her as pretty, but her slouching and eye bags do her no favours. Not that he can talk, what with his horrible posture and perpetual eye boogers. He does have impeccable skin, though. Linhardt knows he shouldn’t brag, but even Dorothea is jealous. 

Even so, those dark circles were just depressing to look at. How can someone forgo sleep to such an extent?

His next words leave his mouth quicker than his rationality can protest. 

“Say, will you sleep with me, Marianne?” 

It is only when the words leave his mouth that he realises just how lecherous his proposition sounds to the common ear. 

Marianne does too, and she looks at him with furrowed brows and a flickering, terrified stare.

Ah, well. 

He’ll just feign ignorance. 

“What do you say?” Linhardt says, giving a small yawn. He pats to the spot next to him, hoping to reassure her. “Though I haven’t tested this exact spot myself, considering the similarity it carries to my own spot, I’d vouch for its effectiveness in lulling one to sleep. The weather, also, is perfect for a nap. That breeze, that sun. Quite nice. ” 

At his sales pitch, Marianne’s tensed shoulders and terrified stare ease a bit. 

Good. Hopefully she’s realised he’s not a lecherous creep who randomly propositions random women for intercourse. It’s only his first month at the Academy, after all. It won’t do at all to have his father call him back when he has so much research to do. 

Linhardt matches Marianne’s stare for a good five seconds, before she looks away. 

She whispers, “...I–I think I’ll pass.” 

He nods. 

“No worries at all. I’ll go back to my nap then. Goodnight.” 

Linhardt closes his eyes and resettles himself into a comfortable position. 

A good thirty seconds pass and she is still lingering in her spot. He can feel her staring at him with those dark, baggy eyes. 

It almost makes him too uncomfortable to sleep. Key word: almost. He does fall asleep. That is his superpower, as contested by Caspar – he can sleep anywhere, anytime, in the presence of _anybody_. Even Lady Rhea. Which he did, in fact, manage to accomplish during her morning address. Seteth drilled him. Linhardt nearly died of boredom. 

Oh? And she’s left. Shame, he was about to give another offer. 

But it’s alright, he’s already fallen asleep. 

He dreams of a cat and a canary taking a nap together. The cat’s stomach is exposed and the canary curls up into the fluffy softness of the other’s belly. 

...Why would a canary ever cuddle with a cat? 

Well, it is cute. 

Peculiar.

But cute.


	2. Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1185

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne finally takes him on his offer.

It is the Great Tree Moon in Imperial Year 1185. 

The flowers are rotten, the winds carry the ashes of the dead, and people are killing each other. It is a time of death and cruelty. It’s a decent time for a nap. 

Linhardt closes his eyes and allows his thoughts to drift. 

The Crest of the Beast. Or, in scholar’s terms, Maurice’s Crest. 

To think that the Cursed Hero had truly taken on a form of a beast – more surprising, however, was the fact that he was alive to this day. _That_ is the true miracle. 

Scaly skin, venomous breath, a reptilian form...truly befitting of its moniker. 

But is a mere moniker. It has no bearing on the person who has it. For instance, the Crest of Cethleann is often dubbed “the Crest of the Priestess”, but just take one good look at him. He is no saint.

Marianne too. He’s known for long the secret of her crest – but she is no monster. She is just a young woman, who likes to feed birds and talk to her horse, named Dorte. 

Now. How was he to get Marianne to understand that?

Linhardt hears a rustle near the bushes and cracks open an eye. He sees Marianne, and she is looking right at him. 

“Oh. Linhardt…” she mutters, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Sorry for disturbing your nap.” 

He frowns as he inspects her. Her eyes are red and watery. He can tell she’s been crying. 

“Now, now, Marianne. No need to apologise. This isn’t exactly the prime location for a nap,” says Linhardt, as he shuffles onto his elbows. “In fact, why don’t you join me for a chat? I’m feeling moody.”

She blinks and small droplets flutter from her lashes. 

“Oh, um...only if you don’t mind.”

“I asked. Why would I mind?” 

Her shoulders hunch. “That’s true...” 

Perhaps he should have phrased it more gently. Oh well. He’s always been insensitive without realising why or how. 

Regardless, Marianne plops next to him, arms wrapped around her knees. They share a quiet few minutes, with all but the sound of little birds chirping and the verdant wind dancing with the fallen wisteria petals, to disrupt the silence. 

“...Aren’t you going to ask?” 

“About your Crest? Why should I?”

She stares at him as if he just fished the Big One. 

“Point taken. My behaviour is often dictated by my curiosity, after all. But not today. I shall have to self-restrain.”

At that, Marianne pauses. She bites her bottom lip, and a shadow overcasts her face. 

“...Linhardt. You know a lot about Crest theory, right? Then…”

“Yes, but, theories are just that. Hypothetical ideas which have insufficient evidence to solidify as truth.” 

“Can you hear my theory, then? Once I’ve had since I was a little girl?”

He stays silent, but nods. 

“My theory is that...my Crest affects me and other people. Painfully. Tragically. That it brings misfortune. That, that someday I...that I too, will become–” 

“–Any evidence for that theory, Marianne?”

In response, her dark gaze turns to him. 

“Well...my parents died, and–”

“So conjecture and coincidence. I’m afraid that doesn’t cut it for a proper hypothesis.” 

She blinks, staring at him with widened eyes. But yet again does the sombre in her expression return. 

“But, but then why–” 

“–Think about it this way, Marianne. If this theory is correct–which is highly implausible–then by having the crest that you have, it may be the reason why you are so highly attuned with animals,” Linhardt says, propping up to sit in a proper posture. Did his back just crack? Oh well – focus. “And I suppose, for one, that as I have the Crest of Cethleann, it is why I am adept with healing magic and am exceptionally generous, just like the Saint in question.” 

“...That’s true,” Marianne whispers, hugging her knees tighter. “You are kind, after all. And much better at healing magic that I could ever possibly hope to be.”

He meant the ‘exceptionally generous’ thing as a joke, but seeing as she didn’t disagree, well... 

His cheeks flush a little red. It’s nice to be thought of as nice - though not enough to act as a motivator to actually _be_ nice. So, he'll take the compliment and continue to lead a life of pure self-interest. Hell, that’s why he escaped the Emperor’s clutches. Use his brains to serve “his country and brethren?” Shivers. 

But wait. He was so distracted by her compliment that it distracted from her self-deprecating comment. 

“...Linhardt?”

He must address this.

“While your compliment was generous, it doesn’t match up to reality. In truth, Marianne, you are a much better healer than I could ever hope to be – not that I would hope to be, and that is the exact issue,” Linhardt says, standing up with two legs, for once actualising his potential as a biped mammal. 

He stands in front of her, a hand on his hip and the other acting out his tirade. 

“You see, I don’t particularly care about being better, and I’m certainly not empathetic enough to listen to soldiers drivel on about their family and their dreams, and then call me profanities as I am sewing their bloody leg together. I just smack them with my staff. For you see, Marianne, that honour goes to you. You listen to the injured soldier as they groan, cry, yell, scream, whatever it is. That’s admirable. I could never, and will never, do that.”

Marianne’s stares at him, as if he just fished the Big One, but then actually caught Seteth. 

“...You, you hit them with a staff?” 

That’s her takeaway? After all he said? Come on, he’s never been so nice to somebody. But oh well, he can amuse her. 

“Yes. With Caduceus.” 

“W-with Caduceus?”

Silence. Then, bubbles of laughter erupt from her throat.

“You can be so silly sometimes, Linhardt!”

Marianne’s little giggles erupt into small barks of pure, unadulterated laughter. Her cheeks are flush and her eyes are crinkled with laughter. 

Linhardt just stares, and then...

He comes to a revelation. 

Marianne is cute. 

Very cute. 

He doesn’t know how to process this information. Though, he _had_ noticed her appearance when they reunited. After all, it seems like she finally got some proper sleep in the five years, and yes, she had tidied up her hair, so...

Oh, who was he kidding. He thought she was pretty before, even with the slouching and the saggy, baggy eye bags. It was awkward and cute. She is cute. She’s always been cute, damn it. 

“Um...are you okay?” Marianne whispers, her hand awkwardly reaching out to him, but not quite touching. “Did I offend you?” 

“No. Quite the opposite, in fact,” Linhardt says, sighing. He presses a palm to his temple, looking at Marianne from the side. His cheeks redden. “You have me bewitched, Marianne. Completely and utterly bewitched.” 

In response, she blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then, she cocks her head to the side and her brows cross in confusion. 

“Oh, um…” she mumbles, unsure of her words. “...I’m sorry?” 

He just stares.

She tries again. 

“...Thank you?” 

Linhardt sinks to his knees and just sighs. Very deeply. Then he looks up to her, meeting her confused gaze with his exhausted one. He scoffs, then offers her a pitiful smile. 

“You know what– you’re welcome, Marianne. You are welcome.”

Again, she looks so confused, but he is too exhausted from this exchange to give a damn. 

“Goddess, after talking that much, I think I am in need of a nap,” says Linhardt, his eyes suddenly feeling very heavy. He yawns deeply and stretches out his limbs. “Pardon me, Marianne, but I am now going to take a nap. A very long nap. Goodnight.” 

He stretches out in front of her, before making use of his arms as a pillow. 

“You...you know Linhardt–” 

He hums, his eyes already shut. 

“I think I’d like to take up your offer from so many years ago.” 

His eyes open, and he stares with crossed brows. What a vague statement – he’s made many offers to Marianne during their time as students, whether it was helping her pluck the vegetables in the greenhouse, or helping her talk to Hanneman, or–

“Oh, um, sleeping with you.”

Begone, foul thoughts. 

“Right. When we first met?” 

She nods her head and offers the cutest little smile. Ugh. 

“Exactly. I remember thinking you were such a strange person. How peculiar, when you’re actually so kind.” 

Only for her. 

“Well–go ahead, I suppose.” 

She grins so widely he can see teeth, and she hops right next to him, mimicking his arm-pillow technique. 

He’s so flustered he almost can’t sleep. Keyword: almost. He can sleep anywhere, remember? Even during the Emperor’s address during the war meetings. Hubert nearly killed him. It was more exhausting than threatening. 

But anyway. He dreams of a cat and a canary. Only this time, the cat has the canary in his mouth. 

Huh. Weird.

...

Wait. Is _he_ the canary?

Was he always the canary? 

A plot twist in his own dream. Wow. 

Now he knows his next research project.

Note to self: _do manifestations of self in dreams relate to Crest research and if so..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Took me longer than I expected – got distracted by other ideas...But I'm glad I wrote for these two! They are such cuties!!

**Author's Note:**

> I frickin' love these two damn it, and I need nourishment for them. Chapter 2 is mostly done so it should be up soon enough!


End file.
